Never have I found a place, or a season, without beauty.

Neither the sea, where the white stallions champ their bits and rear against their bridles,

Nor the Desert, bride of the Sun, which sits scornful, apart,

Like an unwooed princess, careless, indifferent.

She spreads her garments, wonderful beyond estimation,

And embroiders continually her mantle.

She is a queen, seated on a throne of gold

In the Hall of Silence.

She insists upon humility.

She insists upon meditation.